


Everything the Light Touches

by NeverwinterThistle



Series: Kingdom Come [2]
Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Dating, Depression, Epilogue, Full Game Spoilers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...is our kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehussy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehussy/gifts), [patho (ghostsoldier)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/gifts).



> Also for [kaeru](http://djkaeru.tumblr.com/). For all the encouragement (and patience!), thank you. Here's that sequel I promised!

"Baby steps," says the king in his castle, while the mountains watch like longing, long lost gods and the sunset dyes his hair a warm shade of really fucking expensive. "If we're going to do this - and it looks like you're not going to accept anything else, you stubborn little shit - then we're doing it the _proper_ way. No...rushing into things before anyone's ready, no coked-up quickies on couches or whatever. One step at a time."

 _Serious_ sits ill on Pagan's face, like his skin resents stretching to form the expression. _Too sober for this bullshit_ says the downward pull of his mouth. _And too old, on top of that._

"Yeah?" Ajay asks. "How about that tiger rug you love, can we have a quickie on there? We could skip the coke, if you wanted. I'm cool with that."

"You're not listening," Pagan says. "You never fucking listen, it's an absolute nightmare. Won't do as you're told, can't stay put for _ten goddamn minutes_ , go wandering off on your own and join terrorist organisations just to ruin a country I was going to give you anyway - and you know, if you absolutely must smear shit all over the place, it's best not to do it on a bed you're going to have to lie in. But you wouldn't listen then either. I don't know why I expected this to be any different."

"Take that as a 'no', then."

Pagan throws his hands up. Turns away to grip the balcony, scowling down at the forest below. Down where the guards patrol with flamethrowers and without mercy; no second chances to any deer or dog unfortunate enough to wander this close to the royal palace. Security's tightened up recently. Ever since Pagan decided to stay. Ever since the threat of assassination actually became a concern.

It's going to get worse. _King and consort_ makes for a flashing, neon red target, and Sabal might just be angry enough to come make sure the job is done properly this time.

They'll deal with that when it happens. Ajay moves to the balcony, pressing his shoulder against Pagan's and sighting down through the trees. Nothing moving but the wind. No sound but the birds settling in for another bitter, biting Himalayan night. He breathes in deep; the chill on his tongue tastes of home.

"So," he says, when it seems like Pagan's had a fair amount of time to do his sulking in. "You said baby steps? What are we talking here, exactly? You want to date me before you let me put out?"

" _Date_ you?" And Pagan laughs, his features settling back into comfortable lines of smug and gleeful. "No, dear boy, nothing so passé. I'm going to _woo_ you. _Seduce_ you. Don't fucking look at me like that, it's not _my_ fault your generation wouldn't know romance if it slapped them across the face with its flaccid genitalia. We're going to do this with a little bit of class."

"Whatever you want, _your majesty_ ," Ajay says. Heavy on the sarcasm, the attitude Pagan loves to call him out on. _Mind your manners_ and _Didn't your mother raise you better than that?_

The king himself slips an arm around his shoulders. Smooth and shameless, a level of confidence Ajay couldn't hope to imitate. "That's more like it," Pagan tells him cheerfully. "Stick to that, and I'll have you writhing around my dick in no time."

"Oh, _now_ I'm listening."

He leans into Pagan's heat, the smell of him ( _refined_ and _tasteful_ , the sweetest hint of gunpowder on his hands. Like a ribbon-wrapped butterfly knife, gleaming with promise and the potential to remove a good few fingers if the mood takes him that way. God knows how much it cost to achieve the effect).

"Just keep it sane, okay?" he says. "Sane-ish. No...pink bears, or yak-blood baths or solid gold statues of me. Maybe just dinner and wine, a couple of candles, that kind of thing."

"Impossible." Pagan's thumb rubs against the crook of his neck. "Candles are illegal. I made the law myself, you can't expect me to just go around flagrantly disobeying that shit. This job is about _consistency._ It's Kinging 101, boy, I do hope you're taking notes."

Ajay closes his eyes. Lets Pagan take any weight he isn't resting on the balcony rail. He goes so far as to lean his head briefly against the other man's shoulder, breathing in the mountain air: cold and cologne, gunpowder and snow. "Any way you want it," he says, and feels the hand on his shoulder tighten. "Whatever makes you happy, and I'm not just saying that. Let's do this. Show me what you've got."

A laugh against his hair, low and filthier than anything he's ever heard from Pagan. He lets it sink into his skin and warm him from the inside out.

"My beautiful boy," Pagan says, "I'm going to blow your fucking _mind_."


	2. Chapter 2

Couple of weeks later find him out in the forests, the sun shining bright through red leaves up above him. His feet hurt; his backpack weighs heavy with ammo, emergency rations, black ink pens and sheets of paper with the royal crest stamped on them. And zipped into a folder so it won't get creased, a document confirming surrender from the Golden Path commander stationed at Shikharpur outpost.

It's been a pretty good morning.

The radio in his pocket buzzes; Ajay digs it out with a sigh. "Yeah? What is it this time?"

"Ajay, how are you?" And it makes a nice change that Pagan pauses for a second or two, as if an answer might actually have been on the cards. As if he hasn't been calling incessantly for the past few hours.

_Dream big, babe,_ Ajay thinks. _You fucking weirdo._

"No, I'm serious here, _how are you?_ Drop the damn tough guy act for a few seconds, because I have legitimate concerns about your mental state. You are listening to me, aren't you? Excellent. I've been consulting several well known psychologists - no, no, I didn't fucking kidnap them, you can save the lecture. But they're of the opinion that you might be experiencing some minor homesickness."

Ajay rolls his eyes. Not like there's anyone there to _see_ it happen, but he feels better having done it anyway. He slides his backpack off his shoulders, laying it down at his feet with a wince. He's going to be here a while; might as well get comfortable.

Pagan's still talking. "Nothing deadly, not to worry, but they've said it's something I should be aware of. So, here I am, stopping by to check you haven't gone completely stark raving batshit in the middle of retaking the outposts you took for the wrong people in the first place. Because, let me tell you, _that_ could get awkward. You know what the treatment for madness is out there among the natives? Doesn't bear thinking about really, so let's just say that _leeches_ would be the least of your worries, if we actually had leeches here."

"Do we?" Ajay finds himself asking. God knows why, it's not like he actually wants an answer.

"No we don't, and thank fucking heavens for that. Still, they've managed to find some truly mindblowing alternatives, and I got the information from Paul, so you can guess for yourself exactly what's meant by _that_."

"Great." It's been two days since he last caught sight of anyone, outside of the outposts he visits. And those are locked down. Golden Path soldiers too scared to leave their posts, even to hunt. Living off rations and waiting for the storm to blow over.

Kyrat's gone quiet in the wake of his...not betrayal, because that's not what it was. Not how it went. He hasn't turned his back on _anyone_. And he's trying to fix the confusion, he is, with the minimal amount of casualties possible - but he can't really blame people for retreating into their homes when they hear he's around.

What is he, these days? Son of Ishwari (and only Ishwari), king's consort and heir to a country that fears him. That has to change. He'll make it change, whatever it takes.

_Waste of bloody time_ , Pagan tells him, and frequently. _We're not short on cash, look, I'll hire you some mercenaries for Christmas. You know all the Golden Path hideouts; we'll hit them so fast they won't know we were there until they're all dead. It won't even hurt much. Think of it like...amputating a gangrenous limb. Chop chop, off it comes, and you've stopped the rot in its tracks. And you can always grow a new one if you feel a bit lopsided._

_That's...not how amputation works._

_Isn't it? Looks like Paul's been bullshitting me again. You'd think by now I'd have learned to take the things he says with a grain of salt...he does love his jokes, that man._

They're not _amputating_ anything. Ajay's the reason three quarters of the country is in chaos; he fucked up, he admits it, and now he's going to fix things. Even if it does mean weeks and weeks of tentative meetings, careful negotiations, wary peace agreements. Outpost by outpost, he comes in peace. And people listen. In the north, they listen.

The south is silent. His messages aren't replied to, if they were ever received in the first place. Feels a bit like shouting into the wind. Like the bridges he needs to cross have already been burnt.

He'd be lying if he said that didn't scare him a bit.

"You still there?" he asks.

"Mhm. Yes, yes, don't mind me. I'll just sit here, twitching slightly, until you feel like telling me you're alright. No rush. It's not as if I'm fucking _concerned for your wellbeing_ or anything."

Ajay smiles. Couldn't stop it if he tried. "I'm good, thanks. Keeping busy. Missing you."

"Yes, well, that's really bloody mutual. Are you planning on coming home anytime soon?"

"You literally saw me three days ago, it's not exactly a long separation. And I'm not even that far away. You could come see me anytime you wanted."

"Changed your mind, have you? What happened to, ' _don't interfere with the peace-brokering, Pagan, you'll just scare people more? I'm a strong, independent young man and I don't need you harshing my groove, you decrepit old grump'?_ "

"I can't believe you just said that," Ajay complains. "Seriously. On a scale of one to ten, how high are you right now?"

"Mind your own damn business, boy. And answer the question properly. _What_ they teach you in American schools, I just don't know. Jokes aside - you _are_ feeling alright, aren't you? Not getting twitchy at all? All the important bits still functioning as they should?"

He doesn't feel any need to answer that one. Occupies himself instead with scanning the nearby area from his vantage point on top of what he'd call a mountain back home, but here in Kyrat barely qualifies as a hill. This place never stops making him feel small. The idea that anyone could _rule_ here is almost laughable; _king_ and _ant_ are synonymous to the Himalayas.

A sigh comes through the radio. "I could have worded that better, I suppose," Pagan muses. "If I'd known you were going to be such a fragile fucking flower about it. Look, if there's anything you need, if you wanted to talk... Well, I make a piss-poor life coach, but Paul lent me one of his many books of wise words _just_ for this occasion. Let's see here. Pick a number between...one and five hundred seventy seven."

"I'm not playing this game," Ajay says. He only just restrains the _you can't make me_ that almost slips out. There's something about Pagan that brings out his inner five year old. Which is worrying, because it means that there aren't actually any responsible adults between the two of them.

Pagan himself would say that just makes things more fun.

"Leaving it to chance, are we? Fair enough. Never had any time for that 'lucky number' bullshit myself, though my mother was always rather attached to the idea. Still, she's long since pushed up the blessed daisies, so I suppose it did her no good in the end. Let's see here, random page, random page... Here we go. _A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere_."

"Helpful," Ajay says.

"Absolutely fucking useless, more like. I'm sorry about this, dear boy, but honestly, if you wanted advice you'd be better off talking to one of those stone statues your Golden Path buddies are so attached to."

"They're not my buddies."

"No, they're not, are they," Pagan says. He sounds almost gleeful about it. "Heard anything from Sabal recently? Wouldn't you just _love_ to know what he's up to? Go on, ask me what he's up to. I have a lovely stack on reports right here in my lap; I know exactly where he's at and what his body count for the week is. The intel's yours, all you have to do is say the magic word."

"Leave him alone. Pretty sure I ruined his life just fine on my own, I don't need any help making it worse."

" _Touchy_. Fine, fine, I'll keep these reports to myself. But my god is it fun to watch him suffer. That's just what he gets for picking Mohan fucking Ghale for his role model, that deluded fuckup."

"You're a terrible person," Ajay tells him.

"It passes the time. And speaking of which, if you weren't busy..."

"I'm not doing anything right now," Ajay says grudgingly, and Pagan claps his hands.

"Well, that's lucky, because I've arranged something of a treat for you. What do you say to a picnic, hmm? Just the two of us and one of my favourite chefs, though of course we'll be pretending he doesn't exist. Shall we?"

"Is this a lunch date?" Ajay asks. "Please tell me you're not going to spend the whole time reading me self-help books. I'm _fine_ , I swear."

" _No,_ dear," Pagan says. "Oh, fuck me, did you hear that? I'm whipped already, and we're not even screwing yet. No, the self-help book is going back to Paul, possibly in a box with a viper or something. Absolutely useless."

"So it's just a picnic."

"It's a _date_. A picnic date, only there won't be any actual _dates_ there because the damn things give me wind like you wouldn't believe. I won't go into detail."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Look, I even have the coordinates for you, isn't that lovely? Oh, sometimes I'm so considerate it brings tears to my eyes. Don't be late, now. My chef will be _very_ upset if the food gets cold. You know what chefs are like. Temperamental fuckers, the lot of them. I really do feel this one would be so much more cooperative if you'd just let me kidnap his family."

"I'm on my way," Ajay says resignedly, and picks up his backpack.

The rendezvous point is on a hill, high enough that the trek to the top is a bitch, and the view is just perfect enough to make it worthwhile. Pagan gets there first; Ajay sees his helicopter swoop past and lifts a hand to wave. _Hey, you. I'll see you soon._

The smell of cooking reaches him about halfway up; frying fat, meat on the grill. His stomach rumbles in response.

"So what are we having?" he calls as he crests the hill, slightly winded and ready to drop his backpack on the nearest flat surface. "Smells great."

"Oh _good_ , you did make it! I was a little worried I'd be eating alone, and I can't _begin_ to tell you how depressing that would be. I'm much too old to be stood up. Be a good boy and help me with this, would you?" Ajay takes the end of the picnic blanket Pagan offers him. Might be wool, but there's a texture to the red and white checkered fabric that makes him think more along the lines of cashmere. Only Pagan.

They spread the blanket out between them, while in the background a man in a white chef's hat and apron gets busy over a couple of portable grills. Ajay looks over at him for long enough to confirm that, yeah, his nose wasn't lying to him. They're having burgers.

"You sure know the way to my heart," he says, dropping his backpack off to the side. Kicking his shoes off, Ajay settles down gratefully on the picnic blanket. "Is that bacon he's cooking? _Awesome_." He grins up at Pagan and gets swatted in return.

"Stop stealing my catchphrase. You're young, creative, full of potential; perfectly capable of making up your own, if you could be bothered."

"Maybe I like yours better."

"Well of _course_ you do, I made it. Something to drink?"

"Sure. What've we got?" He shuffles over to the cooler sitting nearby and lifts the lid. Beer, cider, assorted alcohols in ice-frosted glass bottles. And- "Oh my god, we have Coke?"

"Well, _yes_ , it's in the helicopter if you want some. But wouldn't you rather wait until we've eaten first? We could have a conversation, admire the view- oh. _That_ kind of Coke." Pagan's lips thin, disapproving. "Are you sure? I mean, really? I could have a cocktail whipped up for you, or we have some lovely aged scotch somewhere around here...No? You want _that_ rubbish? For fuck's sake, boy, you're going to have to develop a bit of refinement soon, or you'll never manage at diplomatic dinners."

Ajay keeps the glass bottle protectively sheltered against his chest as he twists the cap off. "I figure if _you_ can do it, I'll probably be fine. Hands off my Coke habit and I won't try mess with yours."

"My goodness, was that supposed to be a pun? An actual attempt at humour? We're going to have to do better than _that_ if you're to rule this country in the style to which it's become accustomed. Thank _you_ ," Pagan says, accepting a martini from the silent chef. "I'm afraid I went and set the bar rather high. Not to worry though; stick with me and everything will be fine."

"Thought you wanted to retire in the Caribbean."

"Is it not man's prerogative to change his mind? Or is that just women? Wouldn't surprise me, the way Yuma carries on. Do you _know_ , she was so bloody offended that you beat her while tripping on shrooms enough to keep _me_ happy for about a week, she's actually upped and left the country? Yes! I know, I was shocked too. She didn't fucking bother to let me know she was still alive until I'd been in mourning for several months. I cried actual tears over that woman. And all the while she was in Hong Kong, safe and sound and living it up with the treasures she plundered before leaving."

"That's a little rude," Ajay agrees. "Also, what the _fuck_. Didn't I stab her, like, six times?"

"My darling boy," Pagan enunciates slowly. "You were tripping _balls_. High as a kite in the breeze! None of it your fault, of course; Yuma's never really grasped the concept of informed consent where drugs are concerned, or anywhere else really. No, she's alive. Setting herself up in the criminal underworld as we speak. I wouldn't go expecting a Christmas card anytime soon, though, she's gone all sulky and disagreeable. Best give it a few years for things to blow over. She'll come around."

"Great," Ajay says. "Looking forward to it already. You know, if we just-" and that's as far as he gets before Pagan leans over and kisses him. His lips are warm, firm; he pulls away too soon, but Ajay's already forgotten what he was going to say.

"I'm _so_ glad things have turned out like this," Pagan says, drawing back just far enough for breathing room. One of his hands finds Ajay's on the picnic blanket and covers it. "When I think that for a while there I genuinely expected you to kill me-"

" _No_ ," Ajay says, horrified, and Pagan laughs.

"Yes, well, in hindsight and all that. Still. I'm really, truly glad to have you here with me. And look! Here's lunch. Mm, that bacon looks cooked to perfection! My compliments to the chef, and I _completely_ retract my threat to have his hands removed if he fucked this up for me."

"Thank you, your majesty," says the chef, placing a laden silver tray on the picnic blanket in front of them. "Let me know when you'd like dessert served. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, some music would be nice. I have a playlist ready-made, it just needs turning on."

"Of course, King Min."

"So," Pagan says as Ajay reaches for one of the giant burgers on the tray in front of them, "I was saying to myself, 'Pagan, the boy's been in this country for months. It's all still very new to him, he's under a metric fuck-tonne of pressure, and choosing to _stay_ doesn't mean he won't miss the States at all. What can be done to alleviate this, hm? What can we do to cheer him up a little?' And that's when genius struck." He gestures at the burgers, the mound of cheese fries and Ajay's bottle of Coke.

"Feed me junk food from home? I gotta agree, that _is_ genius." Ajay takes a bite of his burger, bacon grease dripping down his chin, and completely ignores the napkin Pagan reaches over to spread in his lap. "This is amazing. Thank you."

"Anything for you, Ajay. Anything for you."

The music starts up. Ajay hides his smile behind another bite of burger; only one man in the world would think Kanye West was a suitable backing track to the rolling green hills and Himalayas in the distance. _Livin' in the twenty-first century_ , while around them moulder the ruins of thousand year-old temples.

Only Pagan.

"I'm thinking of inviting my buddy Kanye over for my next birthday," Pagan says. He arranges a napkin in his own lap, tugging it carefully straight before he reaches for a burger. "Offering him ridiculous sums of money for the privilege, that sort of thing. I can do that. Perks of being royalty and obscenely wealthy on top of that. I could have pretty much anyone I wanted to come visit and entertain me. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"No one man should have all that power," Ajay tells him. And then, "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, you were eating. Don't choke, holy shit. Let me get you some water."

"You're a wonder, boy," Pagan says between coughs. He takes the bottle of water Ajay finds at the bottom of the cooler, drinks half of it down and pounds at his chest with a closed fist.

"Glad I'm keeping you amused," Ajay says dryly. "Just...try not to die on me, okay? I have no fucking idea what I'd even do if that happened."

"Oh, you'd be miserable, no doubt. I wouldn't blame you; the whole world would be plunged into mourning, it would be frightful. _Do_ make sure I have someone truly inappropriate singing at my funeral, won't you? I've outlined a few suggestions in my will, but you're more than welcome to exercise creative licence there. I certainly won't be around to stop you. Celine Dion would be nice. I don't think she's on my list, actually, remind me to remedy that oversight when we get home."

"Fuck off."

"Mind your motherfucking language, you rude little twat. It's _my_ funeral and I'll make it as over-fucking-sentimental as I damn well please."

"I want to change the topic now, thanks. This is a seriously good burger." He takes a pointed bite, sauce squirting out and covering his chin, which gives Pagan an opportunity to lecture him on _minding your table manners, I know your mother taught you better than that_ ; hey, anything's better than funeral talk.

"Just by the by," Pagan adds, delicately wiping his fingers clean on another napkin. "I've had Paul rescued from that _dreadful_ cage the Golden Path was keeping him in. You know they were depriving him of even the most basic cellphone access? I wouldn't be surprised to hear he was being fed the local 'cuisine' and forced to piss off the edge of the cliff he was imprisoned on, in lieu of actual sanitary facilities. Like an animal! Well, I suppose the terrorists would know all about animals, seeing as they only barely quality as civilised human beings - and only because they've worked out how to tap into the Wi-Fi at the City of Pain. Anyway, Paul's taking a few weeks off to recuperate with his family, and then he'll returning to help with the peace efforts."

" _What?_ " Ajay chokes on the last, oversized bite of burger. Pagan offers him his half empty bottle of water with a benevolent smile.

"Watch yourself, dear boy. If you suffocate, I'll be forced to give you mouth to mouth- and we all know where that would lead. Awkward for everyone. We should at _least_ make it to dessert before ravishing each other in broad daylight, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh, _no_ ," Ajay says. "Nobody's ravishing anyone until you explain why Paul's on the loose again. Did you...completely miss what he was doing in the south?"

Pagan reaches for the cheese fries. "Governing. Doing his _job_ , and doing it well I might add, even in the face of a constant terrorist threat; he once told me it was a quiet week when there wasn't at _least_ one attempt on his life. Mm, these are actually quite good. I had my doubts, I'll admit, but it looks like I was completely wrong about this."

"He was _torturing_ people!"

"Ajay," Pagan says patiently. "Eat the damn fries and stop trying to impose your naive American conceptions of _good_ and _evil_ on a country where neither fucking applies. I mean, did you really think the Golden Path was any better? You never saw them take hostages, or maybe engage in a little strategic interrogation? Really?"

"Not like this," Ajay argues, but his heart sinks. He thinks of wary glances exchanged, doors carefully closed in his face, _you're not needed for this, brother, why not go get some rest? You're looking tired. We'll take care of things here._ Prisoners kept in little shacks, far enough from Banapur that any screaming wouldn't wake people in the night.

"Paul was just kidnapping people!" he says. "Just...grabbing them off their farms, or their homes. He was hurting civilians-"

"Alternatively, he was bringing in people suspected of aiding a known terrorist organisation - and in far fewer numbers than the Royal Army soldiers killed by the Golden Path. Most of them guilty of nothing more interesting than having more siblings than their poverty-stricken peasant family could feed." Pagan waves a few fries around, a dismissive gesture. _Schooled you, didn't I, boy?_ "See where I'm going with this? Go on, try again. You'll have to do better than _that_ once we start actual diplomatic negotiations. The UN is going to be a _bitch_ to deal with, let me tell you."

"Nobody's going to negotiate anything if they see what _De Pleur_ is doing at his parties!"

"You're referring to Paul Harmon, hardworking American expat who very _kindly_ lends his years of experience to this tiny, struggling country in the middle of who-gives-a-shit?"

Ajay helps himself to fries, deftly manoeuvring the cheese to his mouth and well away from Pagan's nice, probably-cashmere picnic blanket. It buys him a little space; a little time, and god, he needs it. _Paul's coming back._ There's a casual disregard to the way Pagan's addressing this whole situation that suggests he sees it as a decision already made. Bringing this monster of a man back to power, sticking him right back where he was before Ajay took him down.

"I just-" he starts, then stops himself. "Okay, no, wait. Just...let me think for a second."

Pagan nudges the last of the fries towards him. Stretches himself out on the picnic blanket like a lazy cat, hands on his stomach. "Take your time, darling boy. I don't have anything important to do today."

"I...can't tell if you're serious or not."

"Mm, take your pick."

They stay like that in silence for a bit. Ajay works his way through his cheese fries; Pagan dozes, or maybe he doesn't. His eyes are closed whenever Ajay looks over at him, the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes smoothed out and serene.

Ajay makes himself look away.

He's got nothing on the south right now. He knows that; it keeps him up at night, both literally and figuratively. They _need_ the country united. Can't start begging for foreign aid, doctors and food and medical supplies, not like this. Not when there's a decent chance any convoy is going to get attacked by _terrorists_.

_What if_ , he thinks, and feels guilty almost immediately. _Maybe Paul could tone it down a little. Less torture, more...governing. Just having his name back out there might work out for us. If people knew he was back in the south, if he'd reopened the City of Pain..._

If the country's not united, then there's no outside help on the horizon. It's as simple as that.

"Could he...cut back on the torture, maybe?" Ajay asks eventually. "I don't want him kidnapping any more civilians. And he _has_ to stop his parties, that's just sick. I don't want that happening anymore."

He looks at Pagan, and Pagan slowly opens his eyes. Smiles. The look on his face is almost proud. "I've already had a chat with him. Oh, he protested, of course, but Paul's an intelligent man; his golden age is over, he can see that. Not that he'll be retiring the whips and chains! That would just be cruel. But he has _agreed_ to exercise discretion in choosing the people he fucks up. Does that work for you?"

"Great," Ajay says bitterly. "Yeah, it works just fine. Let's bring torture back into the country; not like it could possibly get any worse than it _was_." He folds his legs underneath him, one hand gripping his knee. It's a mistake; his feet come into tickling distance, and Pagan reaches over to dance his fingertips over Ajay's soles. " _Hey!_ "

"Don't sulk, you'll give yourself wrinkles," Pagan tells him. "But I guarantee dessert will cheer you up, if it ever decides to make an appearance... _Oy, Gordon!_ Or Jamie, or whatever you call yourself. Get it started, snap snap! I don't pay you to stand around and look terrified."

The chef scrambles for ingredients and Pagan goes back to tickling Ajay's feet, until Ajay pulls them pointedly out of reach.

"Knock that off."

"Well excuse _me_ for being completely incapable of keeping my hands off you. It's like a compulsion; do I need psychiatric help, do you think? I do have a lot of trained specialists on speed dial just now, I suppose I could always hit them up for advice."

"You could read that self-help book your buddy _Paul_ gave you, how about that?"

"Well aren't _we_ Mister Grumpy!" Pagan says gleefully. "I wouldn't try negotiating any peace treaties right now, you'll just end up setting important shit on fire. People, probably. Not that I'd blame you. Oh, come here, dear boy. Let King Min kiss it better for you."

And because he's not perfect, because he's nowhere near as strong as he should be and Pagan's smiles make his insides tingle in a way they haven't done in years- because the man is _out of his fucking mind_ , and Ajay loves him desperately, he does. Leans over and lets Pagan fit their mouths together, bite gently at his lower lip. He tastes of salt and several martinis.

Pagan lifts a hand to Ajay's cheek, stroking it with his knuckles.

"There you go," he says. "No harm done, no hard feelings, etcetera. There's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself every now and then; life's too short to spend it stressing over minutiae and bullshit." His tongue slides between Ajay's lips, stealing any reply he might have offered. Ajay closes his eyes, and lets himself be soothed.

Whatever. He'll worry about it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'helpful quote' comes from Groucho Marx, Kanye's [Power](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L53gjP-TtGE) is my anthem, and no celebrity chefs were harmed in the making of this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

"Cornflakes," Pagan says, disgusted. "I offer you _literally_ anything your heart desires, and you tell me you want _fucking cornflakes_. Where's your sense of adventure? Ask me for caviar, strawberries, oysters, anything at all!"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with the cornflakes."

"Yes, sir," says the servant at his elbow. "And coffee, as usual?"

"Sure. Thank you."

"Cornflakes," Pagan repeats. "You know, I think I might be having a crisis here. It feels serious. Are my cheeks flushed, Ajay, do I look peaky? Paul, take my pulse. You have medical training don't you?"

"Sure," Paul says wryly, accepting the offered hand. "Kind of. Stuff I picked up along the line. My job's more taking people apart than putting them back together again, just in case you'd forgotten."

"That makes you half way to a qualified surgeon, and ten times better than the fucking incompetent _quacks_ I hire for this sort of thing."

"Whatever you say, boss." Paul gives Pagan his hand back. Straightens out the wrinkles in his newspaper, fingers fussing over creases. "Good news: you're not dead. And that's about all I got for you."

" _Wonderful._ "

Breakfast arrives; Ajay gets his cornflakes and milky coffee. He thanks the servants who bring them over and ignores the twitch of displeasure in Pagan's cheek. The king himself has fresh croissants today, with about ten different jam options arranged artfully around the giant pot of tea he works his way through every morning. Paul's more a bacon, eggs and espresso kind of guy. He doesn't look up from his newspaper as he's served. His fingers tremble on the edges, the paper fluttering slightly where he holds it.

Pagan says the counselling's really working for him. Says he should make a full recovery, in time, and there's no reason to put him out to pasture just yet. _That's not how you reward long years of service, dear boy,_ he says, when the topic comes up, as it tends to. _No, no, we're not having this discussion again. Paul's a friend, and a valued employee besides. And how would it look if I just went around firing people the moment they got themselves a wee bit traumatised on the job? Fucked if I know where I'd find a replacement, anyway._

Three men at a table. Ajay, with Paul on his left and Pagan across from him. The seat at his right is empty; the balcony at Pagan's back looks out on mountains, trees in full blossom and the path leading up to Paul's compound. Déjà vu is an itch in his head, an ache in his teeth. He eats his cornflakes and doesn't say anything.

"Your Majesty?" someone says from the doorway behind him. Ajay doesn't turn to look. The chair on his right is empty, and Dharpan is dead - but Pagan could fill it with any rebel ( _terrorist, they're all terrorists, and they ruin everything_ ) and it wouldn't make a difference to him. And the place will be filled; he's known that since he showed up for breakfast and saw the seating arrangement.

_You're usually more subtle than this_ , Ajay thinks. Sips his coffee and wonders what he'll do if it's Sabal.

"Yes, put him over there. We saved a space." Pagan gestures- probably gestures, and Ajay isn't looking up to check. "And take the bag off his head, won't you? Really. What the fuck _is_ it with your people and bags, Paul? I mean, does it _matter_ if he sees where we're bringing him?"

"Standard protocol," Paul says.

" _Is_ it? What, there's a manual for this sort of thing? Fuck me, I really am losing touch, aren't I? Send me a copy when you have a minute, I could always use a bit of bedtime reading."

A soft _thump_ on his right; a muffled groan that amplifies with the rough removal of the mesh bag. Ajay keeps his eyes on his coffee as long as he can, but he's not superhuman and he's nowhere near as disconnected from this as he'd like. He needs to know. Can't live with the questions hanging over him, and so. He looks up.

"Introductions," Pagan says cheerfully. "Good morning, by the way! How were the accommodations, did you find them to your liking? No, that's quite alright, you don't need to answer that. I know the gag makes things a bit tricky. Still, Paul has a protocol to follow, apparently... Yes, that's Paul over there, gracious host, etcetera. Ajay Ghale on your left; I gather you two have met. And I am Pagan Min, surprise, surprise. Ajay, I'm afraid I didn't catch this gentleman's name when he arrived. Any chance you could fill in the blank?"

Ajay looks over, mouth already open, answer on the tip of his tongue. Hands clenched tight around his cup of coffee.

And relaxes.

"He's- hey, aren't you the priest from Chal Jama Monastery? Raju? Maybe?" The priest jerks his head, his reply muffled by the ball of cloth stuffed into his mouth. His eyes are wide; his forehead shines with sweat.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Pagan says breezily. "I've forgotten it already. You know, it took me _months_ to learn Amita and Sabal's names and apparently I'm pronouncing one of them completely wrong. Not sure which, don't especially give a fuck. Where was I? I've gone and forgotten. Fucking Alzheimer's, knowing my luck; I do hope you weren't expecting me to age with grace, dear boy, because there is, as they say, a _snowball's chance in hell_ of that happening."

"Why's he here?" Ajay asks. He tries to avoid the man's terrified eyes, but it's not easy. Pagan sips his tea, Paul reads his newspaper, and Ajay just...can't. Can't go back to pretending things are normal. He pushes his bowl of cornflakes away without looking at it.

"Good question," Pagan says. He looks over at Ajay a little too long; under the table, Ajay feels a foot brush one of his. Press gently against his instep. "Paul, you want to take this one?"

"Man's a terrorist," Paul says. "The shit we found in that little 'temple' he was running, let me tell you." He whistles, low and appreciative. "Enough guns to keep you two happy for _weeks_ , and that's even before you get started on the smaller stuff. Grenades, C4, you name it. Found some nice stacks of cash too; lucky we liberated it when we did, or those mountain savages might be using it to put a price on your head right now. They can't be too happy about you switching sides in the middle of the battle now, can they? I don't _think_ so."

Their guest groans behind his gag. He shakes his head in wild denial as the sweat drips slow and steady down his forehead. Ajay leans back, an instinctive movement he regrets when it attracts the other man's attention. His eyes are very dark, distant; absent like Noore's were absent in the moments before she...fell.

"We set the monastery on fire," Paul says, rustling his newspaper again. "Got the guns out first, _duh_ , and questioned a few of the residents, just in case we missed a few. But a place like that is just too dangerous to leave standing. Had to torch it."

"Too bloody right," Pagan agrees. "I don't hold with religion, dear boy, have I mentioned? Opiate of the masses and all that. Give a man religion, and next thing you know he's telling you the sun spins around the earth, and pointing a gun at you until you agree. I should have razed that damn monastery to the ground years ago. Though I suppose it's not too late to repurpose the land to - but, of course, we're cutting back on the poppy fields now, aren't we."

"Fucking stupid idea, if you ask me," Paul says.

"Oh, I agree completely. But Ajay maintains that the poppies have to go, and seeing as it's his country to ruin..."

"I'm right here," Ajay says. "Any...questions regarding my attitude to your heroin exports can be directed to _me_. And just so you know, I feel the same way about it as I did the last time you asked. This isn't right."

"Drugs are bad, rhinos need protecting, we should be giving everyone fucking baby bunny rabbits for Christmas, blah, blah, blah," Pagan says, waving a careless hand.

Under the table, his foot presses against Ajay's again. Firm, but not reproving; feels more like an apology. _I'm so sorry, dear boy, but we did discuss this. Best to keep up appearances around Paul and company. The man's a valued employee; I chose him myself, which makes him more dangerous than a cobra on crack. Give him an inch and he'll take the whole fucking mile. I'd expect nothing less of him._

"That...doesn't explain why we've got company for breakfast," Ajay says. He avoids Raju's blank stare as long as he can, and when he can't anymore he finds something else to look at. Reaches across the table and steals one of Pagan's croissants and a pot of unidentified red jam. Pagan swats at his hand; he misses by a good few inches.

"For fuck's sake, boy, anyone would think I was starving you."

"You weren't going to eat them all."

"That's beside the point. Not to mention- Oh, I'm so sorry," he says, as Raju groans through his gag. "Are we boring you? That's very inconsiderate of us, I do apologise. Right then! To business. The business of what's to be done with you, that is, because unfortunately you've caused me several headaches recently. And you know how I get with my headaches. Or rather, _you_ don't, but Ajay here certainly does."

"Don't remind me," Ajay says, smearing too much jam all over the inside of his croissant. He has to wonder if it's fooling anyone, this play at casual, unconcerned. If he's leaning too obviously in his seat; turning away from Raju, though it turns him towards Paul instead. He wonders if his expression gives him away.

Maybe it's better he doesn't know.

Pagan gives his prisoner a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Now, _you_ are a terrorist. No, don't bother denying it, we found weapons caches scattered liberally through your harmless little monastery, and we're not fucking stupid. You're smuggling guns for the Golden Path. Can't have that, it's bloody detrimental to this country's future peace and prosperity. So. The question here is, what _do_ we do with you? Hmm?"

"He'll have intel," Paul says helpfully. He folds the paper in half, then quarters, and tosses it down by his side. Stretches slowly. "Might be able to get a few names out of him, maybe find out who's getting the goods to him. The sooner we choke off the Golden Path's gun supply, the better for everyone."

"Ooh, _choke_ ," Pagan says. "Now _there's_ a lovely word. I'm a big fan of the images it brings to mind, good choice."

"Or we kill him. But that's a real waste, and we'd be taking a pretty big risk doing it. What if he knows stuff about future attacks? Can't hurt to be too careful, is what I'm saying." Paul reaches for the last of his coffee. He drains it while Ajay stares at him, apparently unaware of the extra attention. Or maybe he just doesn't give a fuck.

Paul's still not sure what to make of Pagan's new...protégé, or the shift in a balance of power he's spent years getting comfortable with. Must be weird for him, having breakfast with a guy who once kidnapped him, shoved him in the trunk of a car and delivered him up to a terrorist organisation.

He's not the only one unhappy right now.

"Can't we just...I don't know, let him go?" Ajay asks. "You burnt his temple, the guns are gone, his life's basically ruined already. Can't we just leave him alone?"

Ajay catches Paul's smirk from the corner of his eye, but that's not who he's talking to, and he doesn't care anyway. _De Pleur's_ opinions mean jack shit to him. As would Yuma's, if she were around to offer them. Which she's not.

Pagan's smiling too. Pity; it wafts off him like his expensive cologne, expresses itself in his gentle grip when he reaches across the table to squeeze Ajay's wrist.

"Ajay, my boy," he says, "That bleeding heart of yours is going to get you killed if we don't do something about it. No, we can't let the fucking _terrorist_ walk free. You understand why, don't you? Of course you do, you're a clever boy. And I'm sure you also understand why the wisest course of action here would be questioning him. Paul will take care of that, don't worry. I pay him enough for it."

"Sure do, Boss. Let me at him, I'll make the monkey dance for you."

"You always do, Paul, you always do."

Paul stands, chair shoved back with enough force that it wobbles, threatens to tip. _He's_ ready, that much is clear. These days he always is. More than usual, Pagan says, but it's understandable given his _misadventure_ with the Golden Path. He's a little bit traumatised, Pagan says. _Bit of PTSD, nothing serious. He'll get over it if he's given a bit of time and an outlet for his issues. And he's in the right place for that!_

"I'm not actually being given a choice here, am I," Ajay says. "You're just going to do your thing anyway."

He says it quietly, but the thing is - nobody talks over him these days. Nobody ignores him, or tells him to shut up about stuff he doesn't understand. He speaks, and the room goes quiet. Even Raju quits the muffled pained noises he keeps making; stares at Ajay with the rest, only there's no hope in his expression. No...faith in Ajay's ability to get him out of here alive.

_You once walked me through your temple and told me about your faith,_ Ajay thinks. _The heart of your people. Heart of Kyrat. The...statues and candles, the offerings. And you really believed I could make a difference; like one skinny, confused stranger could fix all your problems if he spun a few prayer wheels and watched a live sacrifice._

_And he let you down. I did. Guess I kind of let a lot of people down though. Wonder what they're saying about me down in Banapur._

Pagan probably knows; would probably tell him, if Ajay asked. The number of spies he has in the Golden Path would be ridiculous if it wasn't a tragedy. There was a reason they never made progress before Ajay arrived, and it wasn't down to Amita stalling everything. Only reason they're a threat at all is because Pagan sat back and said, _go ahead, Ajay. Go for it, I won't stop you. You'll find guns over here, and ammo right behind you; go have yourself a fucking adventure._

And one of these days, when he decides Ajay's fumbling, inexperienced attempts at negotiations aren't getting anywhere, he'll just have the upper echelon of Golden Path leadership killed. Could have it all done in a day or two. Or so he says, and Ajay doesn't doubt he means it. He'll do it on a whim, because he's having a bad day or he's bored or just because he feels like it.

Ajay wonders about that. Whether or not he'll be able to stop it when it happens, because if this is anything to go by then he might as well give up already.

"You want to handle this, boss?" Paul asks. "Should I just..." He gestures towards the prisoner, and Pagan holds up a hand.

"Just a minute, Paul. We'll get to the...cuffs and chains, whatever it is that gets you off. But first I want to make sure there aren't any misunderstandings going on here. Ajay? I'm talking to you here. Stop sulking and look at me, this is _important_."

Ajay looks up from the croissant he drowned in jam and then started picking apart. Flaky pastry all over his fingers; dead giveaway. He might as well stand at the balcony and scream, _I'm really fucking upset right now_.

From the diaphragm, no less.

"This man...no, wait, rewind, let me try that again. This _terrorist_ is dangerous. You understand that, don't you? You're following me?" Pagan tilts his head and waits; forced patience radiates from his steepled fingers, his frown. "Fucking hell, boy, it's a yes or no question. Do you understand why this is necessary, or should I have Paul draw you a diagram?"

"He's a _priest_ ," Ajay says. "He...prays, he blesses people, whatever. I was at the monastery last time the army attacked it, he was useless. All of them were. So _no_ , I don't understand we why can't just let him go. What's the point of hurting him?"

"Now isn't that just the million dollar question," Paul says. "You think this guy is _harmless_? Boy have I got news for you."

"We found plans," Pagan says. Slow and clear, like he's talking to a child. "Rough, but worryingly accurate. The layout of my palace, notes on possible entrances, on where everyone sleeps... Do you still need that diagram I mentioned? Because I could do one better; if the idea of a simple interrogation is fucking you up _that badly_ , I could always show you something worse. _Ajay_ ," he says, and he's angry now, but it's anger shot through with something a lot less familiar.

_You're scared_ , Ajay thinks. _You thought you were safe in the palace, and you're not, so you're going to hurt people until you feel better-_

"They knew all about you," Pagan says; his rage, his fear, fills the room like a toxin. "Where you like to go wandering, when you're most likely to be hiding out in the library with the Wi-Fi. Where your rooms are, when you sleep. And the same for me, of course; no doubt I was the intended target here, how fucking unusual. That doesn't worry me. What I _do_ object to is your involvement in this. So you see, it's very much not an option to just let this particular monkey go. He's rabid, and rabies are frightfully contagious. Understand?"

"Uh," Ajay says. It's all he has; he's stuck all the way back at the flippancy of _no doubt I was the intended target here_. Stuck on the Golden Path having access to Pagan's schedule, with maps to show them the way. And it's not like he's never considered the potential of assassination attempts. He can fight those off. He's good at dealing with people who want to kill him. Guns, arrows, bombs, grenades, those are all things he can handle if he has to.

This is different. Quieter, more insidious. This is poison and knives in the night, and Ajay's suddenly struck by the thought that this information had to have come from somewhere. Someone.

"There's a spy in the palace, huh." he says. "That's what you're trying to tell me. Who is it?"

Pagan shrugs. "Fucked if I know. It's _Paul's_ job to find out."

"Are we safe?" _Are YOU safe,_ Ajay means. He finds one of Pagan's feet under the table, nudges it gently. Hopes he gets his message across.

"No, of course not. Why do you think we're here at the compound? Not that Paul isn't a most excellent host, thank you Paul. No, we're here because there's a roach in the custard, and I want the entire palace fumigated. Won't take long; we'll be home by evening tomorrow. But for that to happen..." Pagan nods at Raju, who stares back and doesn't make a sound.

_Oh fuck_ , Ajay thinks. It's not even nine, but suddenly all he wants is to crawl back into bed and sleep off the exhaustion laying thick and heavy on his shoulders. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm so sorry. You should have found another legend to rest your hopes on._

"Okay," he says. "I get it now. I'm...yeah. Do what you have to."

"Great. Good. Nice of you to get on board, Ajay, we're real happy to have you." Paul rubs his hands together. He gestures to the guards, who come forward and drag a limp Raju from his chair. "Now, if you gents would excuse me?" He leads the way out and the guards follow in his wake.

It's very quiet after that. Ajay stares down at the ruins of his croissant, the remains of his coffee, and decides he doesn't want either.

"Not easy, is it?" Pagan says gently. Ajay looks up and meets his eyes. Warmer, now, the anger gone as fast as it appeared; he reaches for Ajay's hand and Ajay lets him take it. Holds still as Pagan intertwines their fingers, strokes his thumb over Ajay's skin.

"Making these decisions?"

"Loving me."

Ajay stares at him. And for a moment he has no idea what to say, how to shut this crazy, nonsensical idea down _permanently_. It's never come up before. Only, now he sees Pagan's expression and has to wonder if it has, and he just didn't notice.

_That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,_ he recites in his head. Rehearsal for the big performance, where he'll lay down the law and Pagan will shut up for once in his life and listen. _How could you even think something like that, why would you- what the fuck?_

" _No_ ," he says. Shouts, almost; Pagan twitches back, stunned by the unexpected volume. He's not the only one. "Just...no, okay? Don't say shit like that, it's not funny and it's not true. 'Cause yeah; I love you. And it's the only _easy_ thing about this."

"Sure about that?" Pagan asks. He runs his thumb over Ajay's, pressing down gently on his knuckle. "You've been with me for months, the honeymoon period must be over by now. Sure the gold leaf on your shiny new statue isn't... peeling away to reveal a cheap, shitty copy of something you used to value?"

"Nah," Ajay says. "My statue's solid fucking gold."

And Pagan laughs. "Touché. I really do need to stop underestimating you, darling boy. It's getting embarrassing."

He lets go of Ajay's hand; they go back to breakfast. There's no salvaging the shredded croissant on Ajay's plate, but Pagan has plenty to spare. He takes a couple and ignores Pagan's scowl. It's fake as hell. He's not even trying.

"So what are we up to today?" Ajay asks. "More torture? Negotiations? Are we swindling the UN for cash?"

"I was thinking another visit to my tailor. You have so much going for you, boy, it's almost criminal that you squander it like this. I could have sworn I had those sneakers burnt. And the jeans...fuck's sake. I swear, I'll have you out of those damn jeans if it's the last thing I do."

"Sure," Ajay says. He takes a bite of croissant, chews slowly and swallows before talking. "Any time you want the jeans to come off, just say. Offer's there."

"Yes," Pagan agrees. "And I have a feeling I'll be taking you up on it soon. Patience is _not_ one of my many virtues."

They smile at each other.

In the distance, someone screams.


	4. Chapter 4

There comes an ordinary morning on an ordinary day when Ajay gets up at his usual time, goes down to breakfast and finds himself alone.

And that's not unprecedented; some days the king's alarm goes off and he responds by throwing it at the nearest wall. Sometimes it's a _bad hair day_. Sometimes he smudges his mascara, or whatever it is that he does when he gets up. Not like Ajay would know. He's never been there.

He orders his usual coffee and cornflakes, flips through the pile of documents left in front of Pagan's usual chair, and then puts them back. Reports on the state of his mercenaries (confused), of Durgesh (coming apart at the seams), of the country's finances (stable, now Pagan's stopped throwing mountains of cash away on solid gold replicas of himself and his favourite helicopter). A few minutes later he picks them back up. Pagan's always telling him he should take an interest in this sort of stuff; to be fair, he tends to say that while handing the documents off to an advisor, unread.

A servant comes by to clear up his plates, and Ajay looks at the clock. "Hey," he says. "What's happened to Pagan? Did he sleep in?"

The man, whose name Ajay should know and doesn't, refuses to look at him. "The king isn't feeling very well today, sir," he says, snatching plates off the table and piling them dangerously high on his tray. "I'm sure he would want you not to worry. Maybe...maybe it's best to take another trip away for a few days. We're all very grateful for what you're doing with the outposts, making peace with the Golden Path instead of killing them all. Our families-"

"He's sick?" Ajay shoves his chair back, stands and makes a grab for the man's arm. He misses. "What do you mean _take a fucking trip_ , tell me what's wrong! Hey, come back! Hey!"

There's no answer forthcoming, and Ajay doesn't bother chasing after the guy. He makes for Pagan's rooms instead, shoving sightlessly through carved wood doors and bead curtains. His, _Someone said you were sick????_ text doesn't get him an instant reply, but that's not surprising. Not if Pagan's currently passed out or whatever it is.

The door to Pagan’s private rooms is locked when he tries it. That’s never happened before.

“Hey! Pagan, are you okay in there? Someone said you were sick- hello?” Ajay hammers on the door with a closed fist. It doesn’t shake under the force like some of the older doors might. The appearance of frailty in the aged wood is just that: appearance. Underneath lies reinforced steel, and Ajay has about as much of a hope of kicking it in as he does of coaxing a peace treaty out of Banapur anytime soon.

“Pagan? What’s going on? Do you need anything?”

The silence that answers him stretches long, makes his skin prickle, and this time when he pounds at the door, he means it.

“ _Pagan_. Wake _up_ , do I need to call you a doctor?”

Call. Now there’s an idea. Ajay digs his phone out of a pocket and stabs at speed dial. Doesn’t even matter which number he hits; Pagan’s programmed into all of them. He presses the phone to one ear; the other to the door, until he can make out the distant strains of Pagan’s latest ‘Ajay ringtone’ on the other side. Same one as yesterday; it’s a measure of his current panic that he’s actually relieved to hear _Anaconda_ playing.

He waits. It’s only a matter of time before Pagan picks up. He always does. No matter what he’s doing, who he’s with- he never ignores a call from Ajay. It’s just a matter of waiting until-

“Yes, yes, it’s me, what the fuck do you want? I’m a bit busy with the whole _King_ business, it’s not as if I can just drop everything-“

“Could you stop ignoring me and answer your door?” Ajay snaps. “One of the servants said you were sick, I’m kind of standing out here worrying. That’s what people do when they care about other people, they worry-“

“-so leave a message and I’ll have someone get back to you if I remember, though knowing how my memory is these days I wouldn’t bloody count on it. Hugs and kisses, mwah, leave a message or fuck right off, up to you really.”

“Did you just let me go to voicemail?” Ajay hollers at the door. “I’m fucking _freaking out_ here!” He kicks it a few times. It doesn’t budge, and his next attempt at calling lasts all of two seconds before he’s sent straight back to the obnoxious voicemail recording. He doesn’t bother with trying to leave any messages. It’s not like Pagan doesn’t know who’s trying to call him.

This doesn’t make any sense. They haven’t _argued_ , they pretty much never do, and if he had to pick a word to describe how things were between them last night, he’d go for…good. Great. _Awesome_ , even. Steaks for dinner, and Pagan finally went through with his threat to make Ajay watch one of the true classics of this film-making generation.

“Is this because I didn’t like _Mean Girls_?” Ajay asks the door. “Because my problem was more you quoting along with every second line. That was annoying. _You’re_ annoying. Could you let me in, I’m really not okay with this. Can we talk?”

They kissed through the credits. Dark room and pinot noir on their tongues, and Pagan spent a good half of the movie with an arm over the back of the couch. Around Ajay’s shoulders. A casual intimacy they’re both getting better at, starting to actively look for, and the _new relationship_ nerves are dulling along the edges. They’re doing pretty good, as far as Ajay can tell. Yeah, there’s history, and fixing up Kyrat besides, but they’re working on that.

He’s happy here.

Ajay looks down as his phone buzzes, fumbling to unlock it. He exhales, frustrated, when the text that shows up isn’t from who it should be. _Gary_ , reads the sender. Ajay opens it.

 _King Min is sick,_ it reads in sharp black font. _You can’t help. Take a vacation. I will message when he is well again._

_Fuck you, what the hell is wrong with him????_

_Sick._

_I KNOW THAT_

_He needs time. You should go._

“Go where?” Ajay mutters. He glares at his phone; he’s never been the kind of guy to throw things around when he was mad, but the idea is starting to gain appeal. Toss the thing at a wall, let it smash to pieces. Then Gary might have to come and actually _give_ him the answers he’s looking for.

Ishwari would never have let him get away with something like that. Before, he’d never even have considered it. Which just goes to show how much life has changed recently; if he breaks something, it’ll get replaced, no consequences. The animals he kills while out hunting with Pagan get skinned for him; the meat is brought right to their table. If he wanted to…fuck, take up _serial killing,_ the bodies would be buried. He gets whatever he asks for here, even if the request isn’t something he outright states.

Just not when it actually matters.

Ajay crosses his legs and sinks to the rich, red carpet, leaning his back on Pagan’s door. He sits his phone in his lap; pulls up Pagan’s number and sends a message.

_Sitting outside your door at the moment. I’m not going anywhere. Text me if you can’t talk?_

There’s no reply; he wasn’t really expecting one. Not this soon. Instead, Ajay leans his head back against the unforgiving wood and dozes off.

Around lunchtime someone finds him; a servant, another familiar face, another name on the tip of his tongue. Another averted look and absence of answers, though she brings him a covered tray of food and asks him what he’d like to drink with it. Nods when he asks for water, and fetches that too. If she finds it strange that he doesn’t budge from his seat in front of the king’s locked door, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. Her expression is one of pity.

Otherwise he’s left alone. The hours pass slowly; Ajay stares at the opposite wall, then the ceiling, then the carpet. Plucks at it restlessly until it starts fraying under his fingers, then switches his attention to his phone. Pagan doesn’t respond to any of the messages he sends; Gary sends platitudes, and repeated suggestions that he find somewhere else to be for a while. Which makes no sense. Nobody seems surprised by this _illness,_ like it’s something they’ve seen before and know how to deal with. It’s probably not contagious, or Pagan would be making damn sure Ajay wasn’t anywhere near him.

He was fine last night. Ajay taps restlessly at a few games on his phone, and focuses on just how _fine_ Pagan was the last time they saw each other. How _fine_ he’s been these last few weeks, months. Basically since Ajay arrived.

They have…a thing, a sort of arrangement that isn’t roommates and isn’t partners, and is but isn’t family. Meals shared, when Ajay isn’t out and about. Movie nights and boar hunts and the parties Pagan’s started throwing again. Nothing too extreme; mostly Royal Guard members, who look at Ajay with some confusion but no hostility once Pagan introduces him as a permanent fixture in the palace.

 _This is Ajay Ghale, you’ve all heard of him,_ Pagan tells them. _Now, this lovely young man has done me the honour of accepting my generous offer of hospitality, and he’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future. Fuck with him and I’ll have Paul feed you your own sautéed scrotums. Have you tried the scotch, it’s something quite spectacular, here let me…_

So half the Royal Guard is convinced he’s Pagan’s toy boy. Whatever. It’s not like Ajay cares, much, and Pagan finds the idea outright hilarious. Seems to enjoy dressing Ajay up for these special occasions, in nice suits with gold cufflinks, bright silk ties, cologne. Playing up the age gap, one arm around Ajay’s shoulders and dropping _Daddy_ into every second sentence.

_You know that’s creepy, right?_

_Protective coloration, darling boy. Nobody’s going to waste time trying to kill the king’s new pet, are they?_

_You’re protecting me by telling people you’re my sugar daddy- oh my god, I feel dirty just saying that._

_Mm, isn’t it terrible? Nothing a shower won’t fix; if you find yourself wanting any assistance there, I’m more than willing to lend my talents to your cause. Get you nice and soapy-_

_Big talk. Let’s see you actually deliver on that, huh?_

_Patience, Ajay. No need to go rushing into this before anyone’s ready! We have the rest of our lives to fuck each other silly in a wide variety of improbable positions, but courtship- that only comes once, and I’m damned if I won’t make it perfect._

The excuse is starting to get a little old. It’s not exactly trouble in paradise (and it is, it is _so_ paradise, this beautiful, broken country he can never picture leaving). He’s not _worried_. But he is starting to wonder if there’s some kind of commitment issue going on here, like Pagan can’t quite bring himself to seal the deal on what is essentially a whole new future for him. Like it’s just a little too hard for him to leave the past behind. To seal shut the divide between _Ishwari’s baby son_ and _Ajay Ghale, adult and equal._

Outside, the light starts to fade. Sunset in the Himalayas; normally they’d watch it together. Tonight, Ajay feels no inclination to go enjoy it alone. But he feels even less tempted to take dinner on another tray outside Pagan’s room, like a puppy that’s been put outside for bad behaviour. Staring in through a window, waiting to be wanted. Fuck that. _Fuck_ it.

 _Going to have dinner,_ he sends to Pagan. It just about kills his dying phone battery. _Come find me if you decide to explain. But I bet you won’t because you’re a dick._

Dinner is pizza. Unusual; Pagan’s not a fan of the mess it makes. He’s one of those people who just has to eat it with a knife and fork, and freaks out if he gets cheese all down his front. Blood is one thing, apparently, but mozzarella is completely out of the question.

Ajay wonders if he should read something into the fact that he was clearly the only one expected to show for dinner. One place set, and the meal is something he likes but doesn’t get often. Feels kind of like a sympathy offering. Between that, and the fact that half the table is laden down with what looks like the entire contents of Pagan’s impressive liquor cabinet, something is clearly not right here. The silence is unnatural. The pitying looks are downright _unnerving_ , and nobody will tell him anything. They want to; he can tell. But the undercurrent of _orders are orders_ hangs thick and heavy in the air, and after a while he just stops asking.

Sometime after dessert (sickly sweet chocolate mud cake, all pretence at elegance abandoned in favour of just layering the sugar on until it threatened to overbalance), Ajay ends up on the balcony, sipping his third glass of whiskey. He missed the sunset. And now it’s pissing him off, even though he’s the one who made the conscious decision to sit with his back to the window. He has no one to blame but himself.

He has no one to _complain_ to, is the issue here. Who the hell is he supposed to take his problems to? Who’s going to tell him that yeah, Pagan’s being an asshole, and it’s totally justified that Ajay is mad? Who’s going to stick the silence out with him until Pagan pulls his head out of his own ass and comes back to society?

It’s the first time he’s missed home since arriving. His friends. Ishwari. God, he misses Ishwari. Things got a little easier after laying her to rest with his…sister, with Lakshmana. It’s been good, having somewhere to go and mourn when he needs to. He’s coping better now than he was while he ran around blowing things up for the Golden Path.

But he misses her, now more than ever. Might be the whiskey talking, and the absence of Pagan’s burning-sun presence. It’s hard to hurt with Pagan around. And now he’s not.

For the first time, Ajay looks out at the mountains and finds himself feeling isolated.

He goes to bed drunk, and in the morning he drags himself to breakfast. Pagan is missing again; Ajay could have guessed as much. In the absence of its king, the palace is a hollow, dusty place, a mixture of maze and museum. Ajay stands outside Pagan’s door for ten minutes, banging on unresponsive wood. Then he grabs a bow and quiver of arrows from the armoury and goes hunting. Kills nothing; all his shots go wide, while he snarls and fires, again, again, and stalks back to the palace when there’s no longer enough light in the sky to fail at aiming with. And that’s the second day.

On the third day he throws himself into work; more failed attempts at eliciting a response from the south (he’d take anything at this stage, but Sabal won’t even give him a fucking _declaration of war_ , and he is so, so sick of silences). The north, at least, is mostly stable by now. UN food parcels started arriving a few weeks back and distribution is going smoothly. The north won’t starve. The south is a different matter, if they won’t swallow their damn pride and accept that he is _trying._

On the fourth day, he tries the handle of Pagan’s door and finds it unlocked.

“Holy shit, fucking _finally,_ ” Ajay snarls, barging into the king’s private chambers.

He finds himself alone, once again. Pagan is nowhere to be seen. He’s clearly been around though, if the mess is anything to go by. Bottles strewn everywhere, mostly empty. Tell-tale powder substance on a book by the bedside table; the remnants of several meals, barely touched. Something crunches under Ajay’s shoes as he investigates the uninhabited bedroom. Swearing under his breath, he stumbles his way over to the curtains and pulls them back, letting light into the room.

“What the fuck,” he says blankly, to nobody in particular. “What, did you just…check out for a bit? What’s going on?” Only, he’s starting to think he might be onto something here. The answers lie heavy over the room, like the layer of dust on the bookshelves, the congealed food and dirty crystal glasses. The servants haven’t been in here either; looks like food was being sent up in a dumbwaiter built into the wall by the bed.

 _Sick,_ Ajay thinks. _Because I guess it would have killed them to just tell me. I should have been here for him._ He steps back out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar in case someone wants to come and clean up while it’s empty.

He knows where Pagan will be.

Their family tomb sits in a side garden, a weathered white hut that rarely sees visitors, and generally only Ajay. He goes when he needs to; stays until the hurting ebbs. Eventually those visits will grow less frequent, and he’s okay with that. He’s healing. He’ll be okay. He _will_ move on.

Pagan’s voice is audible long before Ajay reaches the tomb.

“-should have built this place closer, I’m getting too old to keep traipsing out here. Ugh.Hello, darling, how are you enjoying the accommodations? Need anything? Of course you don't, you're fucking dead. Cancer, wasn't it? Shame. You deserved a better end than that."

 _Fuck,_ Ajay thinks, one hand on the doorway leading out to the garden. _I don’t have the training for this._ But then, a herd of kidnapped celebrity psychiatrists would probably wash their hands of Pagan Min, given a look at his issues and various substance dependencies. And Ajay’s not actually sure he’d blame them. Nobody in this world comes properly prepared to deal with Pagan.

He steps outside.

“My god it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Such a depressingly long time since it was you and me and little Ajay, Lakshmana in her cradle, and the future stretching out in front of us like a field of poppies as far as the eye can see. I mean, yes, there was that tiny issue of your husband and those Golden Path _fucks_ he was leading around. But I told you, didn’t I? What was it I told you? ‘My darling. Don’t worry now, I’ll take care of everything. We’re safe here; they can’t hurt us. Everything is will be…alright.’ Yes, that’s what I said. And you, in all your infinite wisdom, you went and believed me. God fucking damn. What a right pair of young fools we were.”

Ajay doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps as he approaches. Not that it matters; Pagan talks over what warning sounds he tries to make.

“I bet you thought that’d be the worst of my failures. Letting our little girl die, leaving _you_ to deal with the nasty business of revenge murder. Sorry about that, by the way. If you’d just waited a bit, just a few fucking days, I would have done it myself. But I suppose you had to have it your way. What _must_ it be doing to you, seeing Ajay back here. Settling in, making a home for himself. It’s almost like old times- although, and it pains me the say this, you filled your clothes out a lot better than he does. Scrawny young man. Really rocking the _heroin chic_ look, though he has the good sense to restrict himself to weed and the more expensive contents of my liquor cabinet. Yes, he’s a good boy. Sweet. Well-meaning. Fucking god-awful taste in men. I suppose he gets that from you.”

“I don’t know, I thought my taste was improving,” Ajay says. Pagan turns to salute him with the bottle in his hand. He’s lounging somewhat crookedly in an antique chair that looks like it came from one of the living rooms. How he got it outside is a mystery. It doesn’t look like it would fit through any of the doorways.

“Ajay, my boy, what the fuck are you still doing here? I’d have thought by now you’d have given up on this pathetic waste of space; maybe gone back to the terrorists, set a few of my poppy fields on fire… Can’t say I’d have blamed you. There’s just something _therapeutic_ about burning things.”

“Or getting wasted outside a tomb,” Ajay agrees. “Apparently. Is that chair from the second floor? How the hell did it end up here? Do we have…new holes in the wall or something?”

Pagan giggles, high and unnatural. “That’s me! Always going around breaking everything I touch. Your mother, our child, our future, our _lovely_ antique palace. You’ll be next, dear, you might want to start running while you still have legs. Tell you what, I’ll lend you a helicopter, you’ll be back in Banapur by noon. I’m sure Amita will forgive you, she’s the sensible sort. Doesn’t fuck around with useful resources.”

“Amita’s gone.”

“Is she? So she is. Why on earth did you do that? You’re usually such a sensible boy. Wouldn’t have thought you’d be in support of oppressing women and making sweet little girls marry men three times their age. Now, I realise I’m not one to talk, but you have to admit that’s a little fucked up.”

“It was complicated.”

“Hmm,” Pagan says. He drinks from the bottle, pale liquid slopping down his chin. The front of his shirt is soaked in it. “Tell me, did he ever actually fuck you? Or was it all _unspoken promises_ and _lingering glances_ , because the number of people you killed for that man, one would assume he’d have the decency to put out. I would have made damn sure he did.”

“You’re drunk, and we are not having this discussion.”

“Yes, yes, just fucking _avoid_ the conversation. Ishwari used to do the exact same thing. Always spouted the same bullshit about some confrontations being worth having and others being a waste of time- and I always did wonder how she _classified_ the damn things. Did she have a checklist for deciding what was worth talking about and what wasn’t? Do you know?” He gives Ajay an expectant look.

Tired of standing over him, Ajay moves to the closed tomb door, sitting down with his back to the wood. He feels just a little blasphemous. Not enough to stop.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Mom generally didn’t tell me anything. We didn’t talk much when I was a kid. Or an adult.”

“That’s the problem with secrets,” Pagan muses. “Leave them long enough and they start rotting, and before you know it everything’s gone to shit. For what it’s worth, Ajay, I’m sorry. You deserved better than that.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t change the past.”

“You can’t, can you?” Pagan lifts his bottle, saluting the distant mountains. “As a very wise old monkey once said, Hakuna Fucking Matata, and all that jazz.”

“I’m pretty sure if that monkey was here, he’d tell you to stop drinking to avoid your problems.”

“He would not,” Pagan enunciates. “Because he’s a fucking _monkey_.”

“And you think _I’m_ bad about avoiding conversations.”

They sit in silence, while Pagan sips at his bottle and Ajay fights the urge to go take it off him. He has a feeling it wouldn’t go down well. Not that he _cares_ ; he’s mad, still, about the three days spent in what amounts to isolation, with nobody willing to talk to him- though maybe they just didn’t want to have to keep avoiding his questions about Pagan. _Where is he_ and _Why won’t he answer_ and _Does he want me to leave?_

“You could have just told me,” Ajay says. “You know? I wasn’t going to freak out. What is it, depression? Have you talked to someone about it? Someone who’s not Gary, or one of your doubles.”

Pagan waves the question off. “Oh, no point, it comes and goes. I actually seem to be on the mend! Colour _me_ a nice shade of shocked. This is the first low patch I’ve hit since you showed up, and it’s nowhere near as dreadful as it usually is. I expect that’s your influence, dear boy. You’re a right ray of bloody sunshine in this endless dreary cloud of a country. Hah! That was almost poetic. Be a dear and write it down for me, will you? I always forget my best lines when I sober up, and one of these days I might fancy writing a biography. Or is it autobiography? Never could remember the difference.”

“I guess it depends on whether you’re making someone else write it for you or not.”

“Well of _course_ I bloody am! Good god, boy, you don’t actually think I’m going to write it myself do you? Do you see these hands? I have the fingers of an _artiste,_ and the temperament to match. No, I’ll pay some celebrity author to sort out the tedious bits while I myself provide the inspiration. What’s that Rowling woman up to these days, any idea?”

“Okay,” Ajay says, “You know what, I’m taking your alcohol. Hand it over. No, don’t throw it, just- yeah, like that. Thank you.” He puts the bottle aside, pretending he doesn’t see the way Pagan’s eyes follow it. What’s left of it, anyway. And there isn’t much.

“How are you not passed out?” Ajay asks. He thinks back to Pagan’s room, the mess of untouched food and liquor; the powder by his bedside. “Oh no, you know, I think I can guess. Should you really be mixing your substances?”

“Hasn’t killed me yet,” Pagan tells him. He seems almost proud of the fact.

“You do this a lot? Snort a couple of lines, get wasted on- oh my god, what is that, that smells _strong_. Urgh. And then come and sulk outside the family tomb? Is this, like…normal for you? You never mentioned it before.”

Pagan curls in on himself in his chair. He seems half-dressed without a suit jacket; stranger still is the absence of pink about his person. Today he’s in shades of dove grey and black, his shirt collar carelessly creased. His shoes are unremarkable. Even his hair is uncombed, and he shoves it out of his eyes with none of the usual careless grace.

 _You could paint his portrait and call it ‘Abject Misery’,_ Ajay thinks. He finds something uncomfortably manufactured about Pagan’s appearance; not unreal, because the pain is definitely there, and he’s suffering under it. But there’s a very deliberate air about the creases, bitten fingernails and bags under his eyes. He looks pathetic. And he clearly wants to, because if he wanted to hurt where nobody could see, then he would. Instead, he’s projecting. Broadcasting, even, all the way across the palace.

Stands to reason that Pagan Min mourns in the showiest way possible. Ajay sighs, exasperated, and considers getting up to hug him. In the end, he stays where he is.

“I used to spend hours talking to her,” Pagan says out of nowhere. His eyes are fixed on the door above Ajay’s head. “Both of them, really, which is a bit depressing now I come to think about it. I never actually expected that Ishwari would end up here. Or that she’d want to.”

“That’s Mom for you. Always full of surprises.”

“She had a way of making the world look different,” Pagan continues, as if he hasn’t heard. “Such _energy_ , I’ve never met anyone else like her. It was as if she took a good, long look at the way things were, all the things that were wrong around her, and then decided they could all go ahead and fuck themselves. She really believed in futures. For me, for herself. For us. And for you, of course. That’s mostly why she left. With the world at her fingertips, she wasn’t about to let one ruined little country eat her up and shit her out again. She was much too strong for that.”

“Yeah,” Ajay says. He leans back, letting his head thump hard against the door. “I miss her too. Every day.”

The silence comes back. He can’t tell if it’s good or bad; it feels comfortable enough, but that’s just from his perspective. God knows what’s going on inside Pagan’s head. If anything is. For all Ajay knows, he might be reconsidering his decision to stay in the country that hurts him so bad. Might be reconsidering the future. Reconsidering Ajay.

“I’ve been a jackass of unbelievable proportions over the last few days,” Pagan says suddenly. He looks at Ajay; his eyes are red-rimmed, but clear. “Making you hurt just for the sake of it. Suppose I wanted to see what you’d do. If you’d be upset.”

“Wow,” Ajay says. “Yeah, that was _not_ cool of you. I got really scared.”

“So you did. My poor, darling boy. You deserve…diamonds. Gold, and lots of it. Bathtubs of money, an elephant all of your own- would you like that? You’re into all kinds of odd things, I wouldn’t be surprised. I could paint it pink, preserve the brand recognition?”

“You could go back to bed,” Ajay suggests. He stands slowly, stretching, déjà vu prickling as he resigns himself to carrying Pagan most of the way. “I’ll come with you, keep you company. We could watch a movie. I know _I’d_ like that, I don’t know about you.”

“I’m ruining you.” Pagan sits curled in his antique chair, the legs smeared with dust, scratched from their outdoor adventure. “I do that to everything, you’re no exception. The number of times I’ve told you… I wish you’d just put us both out of our misery and accept that. Go _home_ , boy.”

“I am home.”

He pulls one of Pagan’s arms around his shoulders, levering him into standing with the ease of long practice. The crack habit didn’t stop just because he moved in into the royal palace. The parties, binge-drinking, weed on lazy weekends. Once the servants realised he was cool with carrying the king to bed after a night of overindulgence, they started leaving him to it. Ajay appreciates that. Doesn’t matter if they’ve seen it all before, he likes to leave Pagan with at least the illusion of a little dignity. The only person who sees him at his worst these days is Ajay.

And he’s still here. He’s not going anywhere.

The royal suite has been cleaned by the time they get back, a record-breaking effort that should earn their servants a raise at the very least, if not a vacation. Ajay makes a mental note to make sure they get that. God, those people work hard. And they don’t have the excuse of being wildly head over heels about their king.

Pagan kicks his shoes off carelessly, ignoring Ajay as he retrieves them and places them neatly by the door. Sprawls on top of the covers, listless. Mouth drawn in misery.

“You can _go_ now,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “You’ve done your duty, your conscience is clear, blah, blah, blah. I’m relieving you of your obligations. Go help yourself to my best scotch and get fabulously laid. Charge it all to the royal account, I don’t give a shit. _Enjoy_ yourself, boy, god knows you put up with plenty from this decrepit old bastard.”

“Move over a little?” Ajay responds. “Yeah, there we go. You got any movie preferences, because if you leave it up to me we’re watching The Lion King. That’s just what you get for those Hakuna Matata jokes.” He makes himself comfortable on the covers next to Pagan, adjusting the pillows behind them both.

“I can’t stand that goddamn movie. Not a drop of realism or originality in the entire plot, they just assume that the fluffy singing animals will distract you from the fact that they ripped it all right out of Hamlet-“

“You think the plot is unrealistic, but the singing animals are totally fine. Gotcha.”

He puts the movie on, and doesn’t wrap an arm around Pagan’s shoulders the way he normally might. That hurts, a little. He wants to so bad; it feels almost unnatural to be sitting so close without some kind of contact between them. They never watch movies without holding hands at the very least.

But this isn’t about him or even _them,_ and the things he wants come second to the things his man needs. Even if that’s a little distance. Just the company and a movie neither of them has to think about.

“How have you been communicating with the kitchens?” Ajay asks. “I want popcorn. You want popcorn?”

Pagan sighs, sinking lower down against the pillows. “Technology. I _text,_ boy. Mostly emotes, and then they get the unenviable task of deciphering if the snowflake I just sent them is a request for crack or ice cream. Half the time I don’t even know myself. You see? _This_ is what you’re settling for here. When I think of how you could be back in America, living the life Ishwari sacrificed everything to give you…”

“My life,” Ajay says, texting his popcorn request to Gary on the assumption that he’ll know what to do about it. “My questionable decisions.”

“I kept your American passport. You thought you’d blown it up, but you didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want it.”

“When I think of what your mother would say.”

“She’s gone,” Ajay says quietly. On-screen, Simba and Mufasa watch the sunrise. _Everything the light touches,_ Ajay mouths along with the dialogue. “And I love her; I know you do too. That’s why we put her where she wanted to be. She’s at peace, and now all we can do is live the rest of our lives the way _we_ think we should. The only explaining we’ll have to do to her is…why we were anything less than happy. That’s the only thing we could do to hurt her. And I’m happy here, which is why I’m staying.”

“Yes, well. Spend over twenty years wallowing in a pool of your own grief, anger, disappointment… Wallowing in shit, essentially. That sort of thing tends to make _happiness_ seem like a distant prospect, let me tell you.”

“You are though,” Ajay says. He tilts his head, and finds Pagan watching him. “Yeah, you are. I know right now that’s hard to believe. But you have a helicopter that could take you out of this country any time you wanted. You could just go, there’s not much I could do to stop you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that would be _really fucking irresponsible_ of me.”

Ajay smiles at him. “Yeah. Yeah, it would. And you’re kind of curious to see what our Kyrat is going to look like. Admit it.”

“Well, seeing as you vetoed changing the flag to include a picture of the two of us making out with explosions in the background, I’m not holding out much hope.” Pagan nudges him with an elbow, gently reproachful. “At _least_ let me write a new national anthem. Or hire someone famous to do it, as the case may be. I had a list of possibles lying around somewhere, I don’t suppose you’ve seen it.”

“Nope.”

“Damn. Still, I suppose I could recreate it from memory.”

“Sure,” Ajay tells him. “You could do that. I’m probably going to veto all your suggestions anyway, but you never know.”

There’s a soft _ding_ from the dumbwaiter by Pagan’s bed. Ajay reaches across him when it becomes clear that he’s not going to do it himself.

“Get my laptop while you’re there, will you? There’s a good boy.”

“Sure, babe. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you or anything.” He tries not to put a knee in Pagan’s groin as he reaches for the laptop with his free hand. Pagan gives his ass an obliging pat. Sighs and takes the bowl of popcorn out of Ajay’s hands when it threatens to upend all over him.

Ajay grabs the laptop and climbs back over Pagan to his previous spot. As he’s settling back into the cushions, an arm comes to rest around his shoulders. A little thrill of relief sparks inside him. Burns a little brighter when he finds Pagan watching the screen morosely, working his way through a handful of popcorn.

“So. Your laptop, as requested. What, you want me to look up porn for you? Please don’t let it be weird porn. Just…vanilla is fine, otherwise you can find it yourself.”

“Mm. No, that’s not what I wanted it for, though I can assure you I’ll keep the offer in mind for another time. No, dear boy, the laptop is for you.”

“I’ve…already got, like, three. What’s wrong with those?” Ajay boots it up, typing in Pagan’s password without looking at the keys. “Oh my god, why is that picture still your background. We have so many better ones, why the hell would you go for _that?_ ” He doesn’t get an answer. Wasn’t expecting one; they’ve had this particular argument before. “Okay, what am I doing with this? Something you wanted?”

Pagan’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Ajay,” he says slowly, and Ajay turns to look at him. “You are, by all accounts, a fairly inoffensive person, aside from your tragic fashion sense and tendency to murder anything that comes within reach of your favourite grenade launcher. It’s wonderful really, I wish I was half so fucking popular with the country. Anyway, that’s off-topic. What I’m getting at here is that you probably weren’t a total recluse in America. You had _friends_ , didn’t you?”

“Sure,” Ajay says. “I email them. Sometimes. Not that much, I’m pretty busy around here. Why?”

“Don’t you miss them?”

“Well, yeah. But I made my choice, I’m not going back.”

“No, no, you’re not listening. Or I’m not explaining myself properly, I suppose. I’m not exactly at my best right now.” Pagan offers Ajay the popcorn bowl; he takes a handful just to be obliging. Mindful of getting crumbs all over the laptop’s keyboard. “Don’t you find yourself getting lonely? Feeling…isolated?”

 _No,_ Ajay goes to tell him. But that’s bullshit, and the look on Pagan’s face suggests he knows it. Yeah, it’s been a rough few days without him. And things are fine when they’re together, but Ajay can’t say he doesn’t stay up late some nights looking through Facebook pages and Instagram accounts, aching a little for the people he’s effectively cut out of his life. People he saw almost every day, and now will never see again.

He misses having friends.

“A little,” he admits, and Pagan nods. He looks…satisfied, if anything.

“Of course you do,” he says. “That’s the thing about locking yourself up in a bloody _mausoleum_ in the middle of nowhere, it’s hardly conducive to maintaining a social life with people you actually like. Now, _I_ have people to fulfil that requirement, though dear Yuma is currently restricting our interactions to passive-aggressive Snapchatting. And seeing as I doubt you’ll be wanting to bring Paul into your circle of dearly beloved-“

“Fuck that.”

“Believe it or not, I _did_. Just the one time, and you would not believe - oh fucknuggets, I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. Keep that to yourself, will you? There’s a good boy.”

Ajay helps himself to another handful of popcorn, not so much because he wants it as to distract himself from mental images he could have happily lived his life without. “That’s…disturbing. Feel free to never tell me about it.”

“Shocking, isn’t it? I don’t suppose it’s convinced you that you deserve better with someone else.”

“Nope,” Ajay says. He turns his head to kiss Pagan’s hand where it rests on his shoulder. “Just that I’m going to try get rid of that guy as soon as I can. You need better friends.”

“And you need friends in general.”

On the giant wall-mounted TV, Simba is remembering who he is. _Symbolic_ , Ajay thinks wryly. He has to wonder if his subconscious is turning on him, or if this is all one big coincidence. It’s Kyrat. One is just as possible as the other.

“Okay,” he says. “You want me to get back in touch with people? I’ll do it. Look, I’m doing it right now.”

“Mhm.” Pagan is a weight at his side, leaning his head against Ajay’s, slumped into him. His brief interest seems to be waning; he turns back to the movie without further comment. But Ajay feels the other man’s breath on his neck, blond hairs tickling his cheeks. He pulls up his emails. Logs into a neglected Skype account and starts sending messages.

_Hey. Long time no see._

_Don’t freak out, I’m okay._

_So how have you been?_

_You’ll never believe where I’ve ended up._

_Sorry I was gone so long._

“Can I tell them about you?” Ajay asks as he types. “I really want to.”

“Your eccentric, crack-addled boyfriend. Yes, I suppose that’s appropriate. They might do us all a favour and mount a rescue mission. An intervention, maybe. Wouldn’t that be just fucking perfect.”

“My king,” Ajay tells him. “Guy who cracks me up every day, feeds me food I’ve never even seen before and then gives me solid gold Magnums to play with. Remember that time we took an elephant out hunting? Harpoon-fishing from a helicopter? That was awesome. I’m telling them about _that_ stuff. My crazy boyfriend with his weird hobbies, and his own fucking _kingdom_.”

“Ours,” Pagan corrects him. Then says, “Fine. But for fuck’s sake, don’t tell them I haven’t even seen you naked yet. I’ve been lying to the servants for months now; they’re all under the impression that we screw like bunnies in heat and then you go back to your own room because you like your space.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Cross my battered heart and hope to die. I don’t suppose you’d care to oblige me? This pillow looks perfect for a good old-fashioned smothering.”

Ajay kisses his cheek. He lingers a little, tracing the shape of Pagan’s cheekbone with his mouth. And then he pulls away.

“And we’re finding you some kind of counsellor,” he says, going back to the laptop. “There has to be someone out there who’s seen it all. Probably. Who’d Paul go talk? Or, you know what, no, you’re not going to the same counsellor as Paul. But you’re seeing _someone._ ”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.”

Ajay sends his messages, notifications popping up bright, like fireworks. Faded connections sparking back to life. He was missed. People worried. He hadn’t even realised how many of them cared.

Pagan leans on his shoulder, breathes down his neck, and makes the occasional approving sound, when he can be bothered. Sometimes he goes so far as to offer a comment or two; sometimes he goes back to the movie. Simba wins back his country, Ajay rides out an avalanche of worry from the other side of the world, and eventually Pagan dozes off on his shoulder.

Ajay stays by his side until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this is not a how-to guide on supporting a partner with depression. Pagan's current _Ajay ringtone_ is [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDZX4ooRsWs) (but it changes daily, and this is a vast improvement on the previous one). Yes, I did name this fic after a quote from _The Lion King_.
> 
>  
> 
> **NOTE: This is the point where the author quit, due to a combination of lacking time/the interest required to finish the story. Sometimes these things happen! Rest assured, the ending is happy, and everyone gets to live a relatively long life as the country steadily improves. Thanks for reading this far- hope you had as much fun as I did writing it!**


End file.
